His face snapped toward hers.
“If you accuse the wrong person now, whoever is actually doing it learns what we know.”
Silence.
Ethan exhaled.
Slowly.
“You’re right.”
“I know.”
He almost smiled.
She continued.
“We watch supplies.”
“Animals.”
“Who enters pens.”
“Who knows schedules.”
“And we tell nobody about the poison.”
“Except Jacinto.”
“Why him?”
“He noticed the last cow before anyone.”
“He sleeps near the south pens.”
“And he hates Arthur Vale.”
“Everyone hates Arthur.”
“Exactly.”
They brought Jacinto in.
Thirty.
Fast talker.
Loyal to Castle Ridge for eleven years.
He listened.
Then swore so creatively Magdalena learned three new expressions.
They created a trap.
Moved the vulnerable animals.
Marked fresh feed sacks.
Placed fine ash near the gate to capture tracks.
Waited.
Nothing happened.
For five days.
Then someone cut a section of fence.
No cattle escaped because Jacinto had tied an interior line.
But boot prints remained.
Large.
Square heel.
Common.
Beside them, wagon tracks.
Too narrow for Castle Ridge wagons.
Ethan followed them.
They disappeared onto public road.
Another dead end.
Meanwhile the reopened water line improved.
Magdalena and Ethan walked North Hill repeatedly.
The channel carried more water after clearing.
But not enough to explain the lush green line.
Magdalena knelt near an old stone junction.
“There should be another branch.”
Ethan studied the map.
“None shown.”
“Maps can be incomplete.”
“My grandfather had these drawn.”
“Your grandfather was a man.”
“I noticed.”
“Men make incomplete maps.”
He looked offended on behalf of his grandfather.
Magdalena smiled.
They dug near the junction.
Found another capped channel.
Unlike the first, this cap was metal.
Stamped.
V.S. 1881.
Vale Supply.
Ethan stared.
Magdalena touched the stamp.
“That is better evidence.”
“Arthur's father.”
“Maybe.”
“You enjoy ruining my certainty.”
“Someone should.”
They removed the plate.
Water surged through so quickly both jumped back.
The old secondary line ran downhill toward an abandoned cistern.
Within an hour, the cistern began filling.
Ethan stood beside Magdalena.
Water splashed against stone.
He laughed.
Not smiled.
Laughed.
Then, without thinking, he grabbed Magdalena around the waist.
Lifted her.
Only slightly.
Enough that her boots left the ground.
Both froze.
Ethan immediately set her down.
His face changed.
“I’m sorry.”
Magdalena stared.
“For what?”
“I should have asked.”
She looked at him.
Nobody had ever apologized that quickly for touching her.
Her body had spent years being treated as public property for comment and private property for anyone bold enough.
Ethan looked genuinely ashamed.
Magdalena said:
“Next time ask.”
His eyes lifted.
“Next time?”
She felt heat rise.
“Hypothetically.”
“Of course.”
They walked back separately.
Both smiling where the other could not see.
Castle Ridge received a second chance.
Water reached the north troughs.
Pasture revived slightly.